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in it in a gaseous state. About it at great distances circle not only our earth, but certain kindred bodies called the planets. These shine in the sky because they reflect the light of the sun; they are near enough for us to note their movements quite easily. Night by night their positions change with regard to the fixed stars.

It is well to understand how empty is space. If, as we have said, the sun were a ball nine feet across, our earth would, in proportion, be the size of a one-inch ball, and. at a distance of 323 yards from the sun. The moon would be a speck the size of a small pea, thirty inches from the earth. Nearer to the sun than the earth would be two other very similar specks, the planets Mercury and Venus, at a distance of 125 and 250 yards respectively. Beyond the earth would come the planets Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune, at distances of 500, 1,680, 3,000, 6,000, and 9,500 yards respectively. There would also be a certain number of very much smaller specks, flying about amon

blacken his name and secure his removal, instigated a suit against him for having mismanaged an inheritance left to his children by his first wife. The children themselves appeared in his defence, however, and expressed their complete satisfaction with his administration of their property; and the trumped up charge was wholly disproved. But his enemies still wanted to have him removed and, choosing a new method of attack, forwarded a petition to the king in which they claimed that "Master Hans Chrestensen Sthen because of weakness and old age was incompetent to discharge his duties as a pastor", and asked for his removal to the parishes of Tygelse and Klagstrup. Though the king is reported to have granted the petition, other things seem to have intervened to prevent its execution, and the ill-used pastor appears to have remained at Malmø until his death, the date of which is unknown.

Sthen's fame as a poet and hymnwriter rests mainly on two thin volumes of poetry. A Small Handbook, Containi

similar. I want yours. I want theone you have, even if I already have one or many.

3. Lust: I have to have it.

4. Anger: I will hurt you to insure that I have it, andand to insure that you do not have one.

5. Envy: I hate that you have one.

6. Greed: There is no end to how much I want, or to howlittle I want you to have in comparison.

7. Sloth: I am opposed to you moving up the ladder: itmeans that I will have to move up the ladder, to keepmy position of lordship over you. If I have twice asmuch as you do, and you gain a rung, that means I canonly regain my previous lordship by moving up two; itis far easier to knock you back a rung, or to preventyou from climbing at all.

Destruction is easier than construction.

This becomes even more obvious for the person who hasa goal of being 10 or 100 times further up the ladderof success. . .given the old, and hopefully obsolete,or soon to be obsolete, definitions of

have also been concerned not to leave out of accountChina's relations with her neighbours. Now that we have a betterknowledge of China's neighbours, the Turks, Mongols, Tibetans, Tunguses,Tai, not confined to the narratives of Chinese, who always speak only of"barbarians", we are better able to realize how closely China has beenassociated with her neighbours from the first day of her history to thepresent time; how greatly she is indebted to them, and how much she hasgiven them. We no longer see China as a great civilization surrounded bybarbarians, but we study the Chinese coming to terms with theirneighbours, who had civilizations of quite different types butnevertheless developed ones.

It is usual to split up Chinese history under the various dynasties thathave ruled China or parts thereof. The beginning or end of a dynastydoes not always indicate the beginning or the end of a definite periodof China's social or cultural development. We have tried to breakChina's history down into the thre

sons who appeared to listen to him with respect. d'Artagnan fancied quite naturally, according to his custom, that he must be the object of their conversation, and listened. This time d'Artagnan was only in part mistaken; he himself was not in question, but his horse was. The gentleman appeared to be enumerating all his qualities to his auditors; and, as I have said, the auditors seeming to have great deference for the narrator, they every moment burst into fits of laughter. Now, as a half-smile was sufficient to awaken the irascibility of the young man, the effect produced upon him by this vociferous mirth may be easily imagined.

Nevertheless, d'Artagnan was desirous of examining the appearance of this impertinent personage who ridiculed him. He fixed his haughty eye upon the stranger, and perceived a man of from forty to forty-five years of age, with black and piercing eyes, pale complexion, a strongly marked nose, and a black and well-shaped mustache. He was dressed in a doublet and hose of a violet

Franklin's longest work, and yet it is only a fragment. The first part, written as a letter to his son, William Franklin, was not intended for publication; and the composition is more informal and the narrative more personal than in the second part, from 1730 on, which was written with a view to publication. The entire manuscript shows little evidence of revision. In fact, the expression is so homely and natural that his grandson, William Temple Franklin, in editing the work changed some of the phrases because he thought them inelegant and vulgar.

Franklin began the story of his life while on a visit to his friend, Bishop Shipley, at Twyford, in Hampshire, southern England, in 1771. He took the manuscript, completed to 1731, with him when he returned to Philadelphia in 1775. It was left there with his other papers when he went to France in the following year, and disappeared during the confusion incident to the Revolution. Twenty-three pages of closely written manuscript fell into the hands of Abel Jam

ldManse. And now--because, beyond my deserts, I was happy enoughto find a listener or two on the former occasion--I again seizethe public by the button, and talk of my three years' experiencein a Custom-House. The example of the famous "P. P. , Clerk ofthis Parish," was never more faithfully followed. The truthseems to be, however, that when he casts his leaves forth uponthe wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling asidehis volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understandhim better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates. Someauthors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge themselves insuch confidential depths of revelation as could fittingly beaddressed only and exclusively to the one heart andmind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at largeon the wide world, were certain to find out the divided segmentof the writer's own nature, and complete his circle of existenceby bringing him into communion with it. It is scarcely decorous,however,

relative social positions of man and wife, but the religious reflection of these conditions in the minds of men. Hence Bachofen represents the Oresteia of Aeschylos as the dramatic description of the fight between the vanishing maternal and the paternal law, rising and victorious during the time of the heroes.

Klytaemnestra has killed her husband Agamemnon on his return from the Trojan war for the sake of her lover Aegisthos; but Orestes, her son by Agamemnon, avenges the death of his father by killing his mother. Therefore he is persecuted by the Erinyes, the demonic protectors of maternal law, according to which the murder of a mother is the most horrible, inexpiable crime. But Apollo, who has instigated Orestes to this act by his oracle, and Athene, who is invoked as arbitrator--the two deities representing the new paternal order of things--protect him. Athene gives a hearing to both parties. The whole question is summarized in the ensuing debate between Orestes and the Erinyes. Orestes claims that

m."

"They don't look very nice," she answered, assentingly, "but they are good, honest working women. We do not keep crazy people here."

I again used my handkerchief to hide a smile, as I thought that before morning she would at least think she had one crazy person among her flock.

"They all look crazy," I asserted again, "and I am afraid of them. There are so many crazy people about, and one can never tell what they will do. Then there are so many murders committed, and the police never catch the murderers," and I finished with a sob that would have broken up an audience of blase critics. She gave a sudden and convulsive start, and I knew my first stroke had gone home. It was amusing to see what a remarkably short time it took her to get up from her chair and to whisper hurriedly: "I'll come back to talk with you after a while." I knew she would not come back and she did not.

When the supper-bell rang I went along with the others to the basement and partook of the evening

a restaurant. How could I admire her? But tell me, what did she say about Mr. Dorian Gray?"

"Oh, something like, 'Charming boy--poor dear mother and I absolutely inseparable. Quite forget what he does--afraid he--doesn't do anything--oh, yes, plays the piano--or is it the violin, dear Mr. Gray?' Neither of us could help laughing, and we became friends at once."

"Laughter is not at all a bad beginning for a friendship, and it is far the best ending for one," said the young lord, plucking another daisy.

Hallward shook his head. "You don't understand what friendship is, Harry," he murmured--"or what enmity is, for that matter. You like every one; that is to say, you are indifferent to every one."

"How horribly unjust of you!" cried Lord Henry, tilting his hat back and looking up at the little clouds that, like ravelled skeins of glossy white silk, were drifting across the hollowed turquoise of the summer sky. "Yes; horribly unjust of you. I make a great difference between people. I ch